


a kiss with a fist is better than none

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Bruises, Child Abuse, Fluff, Gen, Hurt Kyoutani Kentarou, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kyoutani Kentarou Needs A Hug, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:27:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25575064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Iwaizumi watches Kyoutani grow, watches him heal.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime & Kyoutani Kentarou, Iwaizumi Hajime & Oikawa Tooru, Kyoutani Kentarou/Yahaba Shigeru
Comments: 5
Kudos: 204





	a kiss with a fist is better than none

This first day Kyoutani had confessed his bruises, his scars and cuts weren’t from fights but from a tempremantal father and an acoholic mother it had been raining.

Sheets of raining slamming down against the roof and unfortunate students who forget their umbrellas.

He had come to the gym in his white shirt, see through with rain water, and visibal underneath the translucent white was the sickening patchworks of purples, yellows and reds.

Oikawa had immediatly launched into a mothering fit, grabbing the second year and Iwaizumi and pulling them into the changing room.

The changing rooms had been cold but Kyoutani’s voice was colder, devoid of any emotion as he explained his father’s moods and his mother’s refusal to take anti-depresants.

Iwaizumi had gone home that day and cried into his mother’s arms. The warmth of love had consumed as he was wrapped in the muscular arms of his mother.

She had swiped a thumb over his cheek, removing any traces of the warm tears, as she asked him what was wrong.

CPS was called that night. 

Kyoutani was removed a week later and withing the next few days he had moved in with Yahaba who had sheepishly admitted his mothers’ had joked about adopting the ‘stray dog’ ever since he had first walked into their house, black eye shining and face flushed with shame as he bowed the lowest bow possible.

Apparently Kyoutani had almost cried when he saw Yahaba’s dog (it was an ugly thing, more carpet than actual animal but Kyoutani had fallen in love with the beast anyway).

The first time Kyoutani had a panic attack was the single worst day of Iwaizumi’s life. Worse than losing any match. Watching the proclaimed tough guy drop to his knees, frantically picking up shards of glass from a cup he had dropped.

The glass cut his hands and knees as he apologized profusely, lips trembling and head tucked down to be more protected by his toned biceps. Blood had dripped onto the floor and years later Iwaizumi sometimes thought he could still see it, memories staining the tiles

Oikawa had dealt with it, all soft touches and impossibly softer words. The setter coaxed the glass out of his hands and into the bin before proceeding to patiently clean every single cut of any remaining slithers of silver.

Iwaizumi had been useless, staring in horror as the fragile peace they had managed to scrape together shattered. That night he spent hours googling symptoms of PTSD, how to help people through anxiety, he googled every single possible after effect of abuse and was sickened when so many of them fit into the team’s resident Mad Dog.

He wrote more notes than he had for any test. Notebooks filled with ways to help. Ways to not let his friend suffer at the hands of his own mind.

Kyoutani didn’t get better just like that, he still bowed far too low to adults, still took his anger out in dangerous ways and never stopped his panic attacks.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t improving. His face grew softer as he gained back the weight that was lost at the hands of neglect and the old dog helped with his anxiety significantly. Angry hands now meeting the ball instead of anyone who looked willing to fight.

It was raining again when Kyoutani came to him on his last day of high school.

“You really helped me,” the voice wasn’t timid exactly but it was certainly soft “I will never be able to thank you enough for what you and Oikawa did for me. You taught me not every interaction is battle. Thanks.”

His words were choppy, clearly rehearsed for hours the night before, but the sentiment was so raw that a hug was inevitable.

Body wrapped in body. Iwaizumi thought back to the violent second year, so conditioned by a household of cruelty that he believe he had to bite first or risk the loomin threat of being hurt again, and pride blossomed in chest.

He looked upon the bleached hair, the honey eyes and tanned skin and 20, 50, 60 years into the future Iwaizumi would never forget that overwhelming fondness for his successor.

Years later, watching Kyoutani play volleyball on the TV, green T-shurt disgustingly ugly but smile as earnest as it had ever been as he slammed a ball down to the opposite side of the net, that fondnesses hadn’t faded.

  
  
  



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